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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131010">Dog and Butterfly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_flower/pseuds/undomiel'>undomiel (small_flower)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Chance Meetings, Durin’s Day, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fake Character Death, M/M, Magic Notes, Ravens, this whole fic is just Respect Dis Juice, with a pinch of raven ex machina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_flower/pseuds/undomiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When it is springtime and the first bulbs of flowers begin to peek from under the snow, the dogs chase the butterflies down the winding roads and into the woods. It was in this same way that Bilbo Baggins found himself chasing the ghost of Thorin Oakenshield, twenty years since he left the Lonely Mountain.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Me? Not writing one-shots? Yeah, I can't believe myself either.</p><p>Special thanks to LOTRO for being the main map ref I use for basically any location-wise descriptions.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as Bilbo returned to the Shire one thing had become very clear to him, and it was the fact that the Shire was no longer his home. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t even bother to chase down every hobbit that had taken a piece of his house for their own, in vain hopes of restoring the old, slow life that he used to have. Some were good-hearted enough to bring back a chair, or a collection of books, but other trinkets Bilbo would never see again, including a suspicious amount of silverware, and even one of the chandeliers that used to hang from his kitchen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something had changed in Bilbo’s heart ever since he laid his eyes on the Lonely Mountain. It was a small, nagging feeling that built up over time, and then grew and blossomed like a planted seed. The answer was obvious, of course. He wanted to spend the rest of his life, however long it may last, amongst dwarves. The heartbeat of the Mountain now beat in his own heart, and when he closed his eyes he would see the tall faces of the kings of old, lamp-lit and looming over all who passed the realm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he could not return to Erebor. There were ghosts in that place, that of dwarven kings and dragon fire, that would only stir up the grief that had sedimented in his heart. It was on Ravenhill that Bilbo bid his last goodbye to Thorin, and he had curled up next to his body, passed out from his tears, when the Eagles descended, and when he woke up he never saw the dwarven king again. And that very moment changed the Lonely Mountain for Bilbo. There were carvings upon every wall, there were statues of dwarf-lords that stretched down long corridors, and in every entryway and glittering lamp he saw the very soul of Thorin Oakenshield among them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All at once it was too much for Bilbo. Every echo of the giant forge-hammers seemed to mirror Thorin’s heartbeat, every whistle of the wind was his breath, and when the dwarves made merry and sang their songs of victory, all Bilbo could think of was the silhouette of Thorin in the Shire, his face shadowed by fire, strumming his harp as the night crept on. There was too much pain, too many memories, and there was regret that Bilbo would never dare to admit outright, even to himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fili assumed the throne as King Under the Mountain, as Dain Ironfoot returned to the Iron Hills, and together with Kili they began to restore the mountain to its former glory. Just before his coronation, however, Bilbo slipped out of the kingdom, hardly unnoticed and dearly missed, with pleas to visit whenever he needed to. But to Bilbo, a restored Erebor only reminded him of an Erebor Thorin should have seen, that Thorin would have ruled, and when he laid his eyes on Fili in his crown and robes all he could think of was how it could have been Thorin, and how Thorin lost everything that he deserved. It was a notion that made his head spin with the sheer weight of sorrow, and he rather tried to avoid it, if he could help it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So when Bilbo packed up his bag and his treasure-chests and his adventuring cloak he made not for Erebor. Instead, he headed to the Blue Mountains, where Thorin’s sister Dís ruled in his stead, and after a few brief introductions and tales over the fire, the dwarrow-dam welcomed the hobbit in her kingdom. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is very kind of you to pledge your service to me, Master Baggins,” she had said with an approving tone, over tea in Bilbo’s quarters, during the first few weeks he settled there. “I’d have thought that my sons would have worn you out by the end of your quest! Thought you’d never want to see another dwarf again,” she added, her voice growing quiet. Then she had cast her gaze down, and set her cup and saucer on the table. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bilbo… about my brother. You must know that you owe him nothing. If you are here because… because you want to repay some sort of <em> debt </em> to him…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it’s nothing of that sort,” Bilbo had said, feeling the familiar tears prick in his eyes. He took a sudden interest in glaring at his seed cake, as if the small grains would fall right off the pastry if he tried hard enough. “Thorin… he was…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Try as he might, Bilbo could never find the words when it came to Thorin. He could sit with a freshly-dipped quill hovering over a piece of parchment for hours, and when the candle ran out and the ink had dried over the tip of the pen he still wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He was a good man,” Dís finished for him. Her eyes were stony, as if she tried to mask her own grief behind an iron-wrought veil. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just couldn’t stay in Erebor. Not after everything that had happened. I’m far too reminded of his presence everywhere I go, it <em> haunts </em> me.” Bilbo rested his head on his hand. “And as you know, there isn’t much for me in the Shire. There won’t be much anyway, not with that little adventure I went off on. You’d be surprised how fickle hobbits are.” He gave a wry chuckle. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“In any case, you are welcome to stay in the Blue Mountains for as long as you like,” said the dwarrow-dam, her voice gruff but sympathetic. “Even if it is for the rest of your life. If you can make a home of this place, then no dwarf within our realm would turn you away.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is hardly a place of the elves, but I do hope you can find healing in Ered Luin. There is a certain comfort that is set in stone and things that are made by the hand, Master Baggins.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So it was in this way that Bilbo stayed at Dís’ side for twenty years. For the first part of his new life he worked in the archives of the Blue Mountains, and sometimes he would help translate Elvish books that had come into the possession of the dwarves when they passed through Mithlond. Then, as his work and service grew more appreciated by those he worked with, and he grew closer to Thorin’s sister, he served for a while as her royal scribe, taking notes from long, heated meetings and courtroom interactions. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once in a while, his mind did drift to other places. He wondered about the Shire sometimes, how his cousins would be faring in the cold winter months, or if the summer festivals had started whenever the sun began to stay up for longer hours. And he loved to read the letters that Fili and Kili would send Dis, for even the King under the Mountain would answer to a mother as fierce as she.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But there was another thought that occurred more often than that of the Shire and Erebor. When he closed his eyes he would see two eyes of piercing blue, eyes that were etched into his heart, eyes that blazed with fire and life. And something in Bilbo’s heart would twist, and then he would be reminded that some wounds could never truly heal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But staying cooped up in one place for twenty years was far too long, even for a Baggins. So, when autumn had begun to show its colours on the greenhouse trees, he approached Dís with a request of his own, and a basket of his best tomatoes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’ll just be to the Shire and back, a few weeks at most. I’ll probably pop in to say hello to a few cousins, and then I’ll be right back. I’d be happy to take on a bit more responsibility before I go, to make up for… well, you know. My absence.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dís had waved off all his concerns and approved before he could even finish his sentence. “A bit of travelling is always good for the soul, Master Baggins. I’m very glad that you asked.” With that, she commissioned the tailors of the guild to make warm, yet lightweight travelling clothes for the hobbit, with lavish fur linings and intricate embroidery, and she gave Bilbo enough gold to travel twice to Erebor and back again, if he ever were to go that way. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Madam, please, it’s just for a few weeks in the Shire, surely I don’t need this much,” Bilbo had said, feeling rather uncomfortable with the bulging bags of coins that sat amongst his other provisions. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Dís replied. “Consider this a gift, Master Baggins. I insist.” Her eyes glittered warmly as she regarded the hobbit. “Who knows? Perhaps fate will have you go on another adventure of your own. It would be wise to be prepared in full for that, no?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Adventure? No, not for a Baggins like me, not anymore,” Bilbo smiled wryly. “It’ll just be a quick trip to check on my garden and pop in on the harvest festival, then I’ll come back straight away.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you say so.” Dís had gone over then, and fixed a corner of Bilbo’s coat that had folded over itself. “Make certain to dress warm — it’ll be colder in the coming days.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bilbo had nodded, feeling rather fussed over, and he was about to excuse himself, had Dís not spoken again. “Oh! Before I forget.” From her breast-pocket she produced a small whistle carved from yew, and when she blew upon it a raven came flying from a nearby window. It looked smaller than the ones that Dís usually had sitting around, and different, too: where the dwarrow-dam’s usual flocks were pitch black, this one had mottled brown feathers that looked almost red in the sunlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dís then extended an arm, and the raven perched on it easily, peering at Bilbo with its clever eyes. Bilbo had never been entirely fond of ravens. They were a good deliverer of messages and made for good companions, but he’s always felt like they were too intelligent for their own good. It felt like they were always staring, always judging, and calculating, and it made his hair stand on end at the thought of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You must take my blood-raven, of course, Master Baggins,” Dís said. “She can get a little excited for her age, but she is handsomely loyal and will deliver any messages with utmost speed. Rather like you, actually,” she added as an afterthought, smoothing the bird’s head with a finger. “A very good girl indeed; I’m sure you’ll be the best of friends. Come now, do say hello.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does she have a name?” Bilbo had asked then, reaching over to pet the raven. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you give her one, Bilbo? She’s your raven, after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well.” Bilbo looked the bird up and down, not feeling quite sure where to start. She had beady eyes, and she was small and sweet (if Bilbo didn’t know better he’d say that Dís had provided him with a hobbit-sized raven). When her red feathers caught the faint gleam of light, it was almost like a jewel. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Garnet,” Bilbo found himself saying. At once the raven tilted her head in a mercurial manner, as if she knew what Bilbo meant. “Her name will be Garnet.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Garnet?” Dís said. “What a quaint name.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, well, it’s customary of hobbits to name our girls after jewels — diamonds, emeralds, and well, garnets are red, and so is she, and she’s quite a sweet girl, you see, well, I felt she was, at least —“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Girls after jewels, hmm? You hobbits are so endearing,” Dís smiled. “Well, go on then, Garnet!” She threw her arm, and Garnet flew out of the window. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you need anything, write to me. We will always be at your service, Master Baggins.” With that, Dís pressed the whistle in Bilbo’s palm and closed his fingers around them. “Garnet will know to come to you with this whistle. Use her well.” Bilbo nodded, pocketing the whistle with a pat. “Yes, thank you so much, Dís, you have been very, very kind to me. I shouldn’t know how to repay you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your service and loyalty to me is payment enough,” Dís said. “Now go, Bilbo. Go find what our mountains cannot offer. Go seek the warmth of the Shire sunshine and the dampness of the green grass. Go see the world, my friend.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bag End was left empty for the most part, and to Bilbo’s surprise no one had tried to move in at all. There may have been a prime time for that in the past, but now the once-great smial was smothered in overgrown vines and a vast abundance of insistent weeds. The flowers had withered, the last of his best tomato plants taken, and the walls started to have a musty smell from a continuous dampness that sunshine alone couldn’t dry. And that was just the outside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door was faded and scratched, and the brass doorknob had long lost its golden lustre; the only recognisable thing was the mark that Gandalf had left long ago. But still Bilbo felt a sense of familiarity when he put his hand on the knob, for you could never really forget the way a door opened if you’ve been opening it for fifty years on end. Which was why Bilbo knew that the door didn’t swing open as smoothly as it used to, and he knew that the rustle of paper against polished wood was a new sound to him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frowning, he bent down around the edge of the doorstep and found, lodged between the door and the floor, a piece of paper folded twice over. By the looks of it, it had been here a while; it had the crispy feeling of paper that was sun-baked after being soaked by rainwater, and some of the flaking green paint from the door had made its way onto the surface of it. Bilbo pinched it between his fingers, slightly damp from the morning dew, and upon closer inspection, the paper looked <em> old</em>. It had a sort of fuzzy quality to it, as if it threatened to crumble right between his hands. It looked as though it had been sitting there for a long, long time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet when he held it out in the sun, it had a faint shimmer upon its surface, as if it had been coated by a fine gold dust. It had some sort of conjurer’s magic to it; something mercurial and mysterious, made of the very stuff of Gandalf and his door-marking staff. It glinted with adventure, and Bilbo felt his fingers tingle with long-lost anticipation as he began unfolding the note to read the message within. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words were incredibly faded, but between the indentation of the words on the paper and the traces of ink Bilbo could just about make out the writing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike><em> M</em><em>aster Baggins: </em> </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Bilbo:  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I came around, but you weren’t home. If you are to see this note, know that you are ever welcome to join me on an adventure -- if you can find me. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> - T </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The note never left Bilbo’s hands all the time he studied it. He sat on his bench outside the steps of Bag End, his pack propped against him, and the slip of paper danced between his fingers, catching the light of the sun every now and then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without having looked at it Bilbo already had the words memorised, as if they were engraved in his very heart. Bilbo had held onto the ghosts of the past for so long, he had felt every imaginable way they would torture him, and a part of him had never left the frozen frame in time that was twenty years ago, when he watched Thorin die on Ravenhill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When it came to Thorin’s memory, he knew it like the back of his hand. He had mapped out every corner of it, reconstructed every manner of Thorin in his mind, and even when it came to haunt him and twist his heart he was glad, because that meant that he hadn’t yet forgotten. Thorin may have passed into legend, in books and soulless statues, but the memory of who he truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> — it was faithfully held the strongest in Bilbo’s heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which was why, as soon he saw the note, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>recognised</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything about it. The handwriting, the tone, and most importantly the name it had been signed off with. “T” stood for Thorin, as in Thorin Oakenshield, the very dwarf that Bilbo had loved and grieved over. By some way or other, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and out there, and he had been waiting for Bilbo ever since he placed the note at his door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But where? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where</span>
  </em>
  <span> would Thorin be? He fumbled with the note in his hands, feeling as though he may wear it down to nothing but scraps. And how will Bilbo even </span>
  <em>
    <span>begin</span>
  </em>
  <span> to find him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could always write to Dís, send out search parties from Ered Luin. It would be far easier to track him down if there were more people on it. But then Bilbo turned to glance at his door, cracked ajar and worn out. Twenty years was a long time to not write to a sister, and if Bilbo knew Thorin as well as he did, he would have seen it done if he really wanted to. And if he had returned to Erebor, revealed himself to Fíli and Kíli and the rest, then he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly</span>
  </em>
  <span> have heard about it, no matter how much they swore to keep it a secret. Dís easily sniffed out lies from miles away, and this was especially true when it came to her sons. And Bilbo would have heard from the rest of the company through their letters, eventually.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But for twenty long, hidden years, Thorin chose not to reveal himself to the dwarves. Instead, all that was left of him, the last hint of his existence, was sitting at Bilbo’s front door. It was a perplexing concept, and even now Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder why it was him that received this note. It was beyond a note of greeting -- it was an invitation, an extended hand to join him on an adventure of his very own -- of </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> very own. Surely that meant something, didn’t it? But still, there were more questions than answers in Bilbo’s mind, and as the sun began to climb the sky he found himself rather in need of a smoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cast his note aside on the bench and turned to his pack for his pipe. Just then, a gust of wind flew by, rustling his hair and making his toes tingle, and when he looked up the note had been lifted along with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no, that’s mine,” Bilbo stammered, jumping to his feet. “Wait! Come back!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The note fluttered in the air, down the steps of Bag End and began to disappear down the road, as if it was a butterfly in the early Shire springtime. Without a second thought, Bilbo threw his pack over his shoulder and ran down the road, his footsteps loud and heavy against the path. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if it had taken a mind of its own the note flew down, down the Hill, over farmlands and fenced paths, and Bilbo pursued it like a dog chasing a butterfly. Over rounded roads it sailed, darting under trees, and past hobbits it went flying, flying, flying. Soon enough, Bilbo felt the eyes of the others on him, looking him up and down in a strangely familiar way, and as he tore past their forms he began to hear whispers of “Baggins” and “he’s back” from their mouths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t the time to stop for conversation or explanation. Bilbo’s gaze was fixed on the note that always seemed to flutter </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of arm’s reach. It was as if it was teasing him, leading him East, out of the Shire and to the rest of the world that lay ahead. Leading him out to the world where Thorin was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, it’s Mad Baggins! It’s doggone Mad Baggins!” Bilbo heard the cry of Hamfast Gamgee as he looked up from the field, where he was smoking a pipe while leaning on a giant pumpkin. “Fancy having you back in the Shire, sir, we thought you were gone forever! Just where are you headed off to, sir?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t talk now, Hamfast!” Bilbo cried as he leapt over the fence. “I’m in a bit of a pinch!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever for?” Hamfast hollered, watching the note sail over his pumpkin, and Bilbo after it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going on another adventure, it seems!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My dear Bilbo,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am beyond pleased to hear that you’re going off on an adventure of your own. You say you wrote to me from Bree? Then I expect you could be anywhere by the time this letter reaches you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you will forgive me for saying so, Master Baggins, I have somehow always known that it was time for you to leave the Blue Mountains. Whether this parting will be temporary, I will leave up to fate. You are in the hands of the world now, and I pray that it will treat you with the kindness you deserve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish you all the best in your endeavours, my friend! It will be a lie if I said that I did not miss you sitting at my right hand, but what truly brings me joy is the knowledge that you are pursuing your own happiness. Know that the Blue Mountains will always be at your service. Write to me if you are in need of provisions or aid. Anything you ask of us, we will see it done. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Dís</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Postscript. It would appear that my court owes me a pretty penny for saying that you would go beyond the Shire. (Perhaps I know you even better than you know yourself.) If we are ever to cross paths again, I’ll share half my earnings with you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The leaves of Imladris took on another shade of brilliance in the high autumn moon, as if they were glimmers of topaz in the crystal-lit mines of the dwarves. This comparison was one that made his companion Elrond laugh softly as the two of them stood at a balcony which overlooked the hidden valley. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bilbo had two notes in hand now. One of them was a letter from Dis, which Garnet had delivered earlier this morning, to the joy and surprise of the hobbit. The other was Thorin’s note, which he had finally caught by the banks of the Brandywine River. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Bilbo said, tucking Dis’ letter inside his breast-pocket, “it’s awfully kind of you to host me here in Rivendell, Lord Elrond.” He glanced up at the elf and gave him a polite smile. “I always worry that I’ll overstay my welcome one way or another, I know you folk are awfully busy with your own matters.” He rocked on the balls of his feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I have told you once before, Master Baggins, you are always welcome to stay in Rivendell, if that is your wish.” Elrond’s eyes were kindly as he spoke to the hobbit. “However, I sense that your stay with us will not be long this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s not wrong,” Bilbo chuckled, fiddling with Thorin’s note in his hand. “It’s not for lack of the courtesy of your halls, of course,” he added quickly. “In fact, you have been wonderfully, wonderfully kind, and I’ve had a great stay so far. It’s just that… I’ve been going on a little adventure of my own. Heh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where will you go next?” Elrond asked kindly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I haven’t really decided. I’m not usually like this, see, I do try to plan these things carefully, but well. Maybe I’ll see the mountains again. Maybe I’ll go down the Anduin until I reach Mirkwood. Or maybe I’ll just go wherever the road takes me.” He chuckled at himself. “I suppose I’ll retrace my old routes back in the days of the quest. That’s what I know, you see. So I’ll head to the Misty Mountains, and then the vales of Anduin…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And eventually, your road would lead you back home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Bag End’s not my -- I haven’t --” Bilbo began, but then he looked up and caught the sight of Elrond’s face, which had a knowing glint to it, and somehow, Bilbo could feel what he meant, even if he did not know it fully. “Ah,” he said, nodding to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, Dís said that it was about time that I went on another adventure. I’ve been in the Blue Mountains ever since I came back from my quest, and she knows me quite well, you see. But.... there was something I hadn’t really… erm... told her.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure if you would know, Lord Elrond, but have you ever seen… well, a dwarf, pass through Rivendell?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A dwarf?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well. A dwarf that bears resemblance to… to…” Then Bilbo’s voice faltered, as if saying his name was still too hard for him. Twenty years of accepting that he no longer existed, twenty years of trying to shun the past, but now, he seemed to be alive and well, and he was no longer a mere figment of Bilbo’s imagination. The reality of him was, all at once, overwhelming. His name stuck on his throat, and for a moment Bilbo thought he may never be able to say it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“T-Thorin… Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A peculiar look came to Elrond’s face, something mysterious and wise, and he looked towards the valley. “How do you know of this?” he said softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-It’s true, then?” Bilbo stammered. “He’s really… alive?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who can say?” Elrond said, in the infuriating way that elves often replied both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ when answering a question. “Even the wisest cannot see all things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But… you’re an elf, aren’t you? You can tell the future and all.” Bilbo felt his voice faltering once more as he glanced at the note again. He unfolded it and placed it in a spot where the moonlight hit the balcony, and the faded words faintly glowed in blue. At once Bilbo was reminded of the moon runes he had seen on the Map of Thror so many years ago, and he wondered if they were made of the same strand of magic, some distinct dwarven enchantment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not all things come to pass,” Elrond reminded him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Know this, Bilbo Baggins. There is a note in your hand, one that is bound to the powers of the sun and moon, and it is revealed to you not by chance, but fate. Whether you will choose to pursue such truths, and whether you will succeed, is entirely up to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Bilbo mumbled. He laid the sheet out on the railing and smoothed it out with a hand. “I’ve felt like this… note… has some, well, magic of its own to it. It just… makes me feel like I should go out there. Look for him, I mean. If he really is, well. Alive. I just can’t… not, you see. I have to see it. See him. For myself. I’d do it, I think. For him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that Elrond only nodded, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. “Of course. If at any time, you are in need of a brief respite in Rivendell, you will always be welcome in our realm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so Bilbo passed through Rivendell and into the Misty Mountains, and for weeks he hiked the snow-dusted peaks and the icy roads until he reached the Vales of Anduin, where the beorning-lands lay. Then down, down the Anduin he trekked, staying close to the banks, setting up camp if he ever wanted a rest. He made feasts of lembas and salted pork, and once a while he would sit and write to Dís — “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing too exciting to report, I’m afraid, just more river and road ahead of me. I suppose I’ll be near Mirkwood by Durin’s Day. Sending lots of love for the celebrations in the Blue Mountains!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It now took his poor raven a good few days to deliver these letters around — after all, Bilbo had put quite a bit of distance between himself and Ered Luin, and for a raven as small as she it was quite a long flight both ways. But, as disgruntled as poor Garnet may be when she descended upon Bilbo’s camp with a thick envelope from Dís, all was often forgiven when Bilbo brought out the collection of birdseed and breadcrumbs he kept with him in his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garnet didn’t always travel alongside Bilbo — when she had nothing to deliver she would usually be set free to the wilds to fly and roam as she pleased. But with one steely, star-strung note of Bilbo’s whistle she would come flying. The loyalty of ravens was something that astounded him the most — they always knew to return when it was time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, if the raven felt like it, she’d loosely trail behind Bilbo as he set foot down the paths of the river, or she’d perch on the top of his pack, her gem-like eyes surveying the sights around the two of them, trained to the shadows within the trees. It was quite endearing, almost as if she was Bilbo’s own pet, and not just a borrowed messenger from the dwarves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But most of the time when Bilbo walked, accompanied or not, he immersed himself in his own thoughts. As his feet steadily beat out a walking-rhythm he would finger the note in his pocket. It was like a question that needed an answer, and to it Bilbo could give none. What was he doing, really? Retracing old steps, just hoping that he would somehow, by some queer, ornate latticework of fate and destiny, bump into Thorin? And really, there was no saying that Thorin was still alive. Twenty years was a long time for anything to happen to anyone. He could have passed, truly passed away in the wilds with no name for his face, buried without glory. These thoughts made Bilbo’s heart race stronger and he found himself walking faster, feeling as though he was in a rush for something. But for what exactly, then? Even if he walked quickly, it would not be of use if he was walking in the wrong direction. In fact, it would be quite silly if he was walking in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>opposite</span>
  </em>
  <span> direction of where Thorin was! But </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>would he know where to walk, then? The note left no clue. Any scents it may once have carried, including that of Thorin’s smell, a warm musk of cedar and bear-fur, was long washed away by twenty years of rain and sun. All that was left was the damp fragrance of morning dew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At quieter times, when he sat poking a small fire he had made for himself at night, he would ponder the more difficult questions, even than that of where he was going and what he was doing. Bilbo thought of fate in the world, and how it would be so that this note would land on his doorstep. How Thorin was waiting, if he was still out there, for him. For </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and not another dwarf, or trusted friend, or even his sister. Bilbo wondered what he had done to deserve such a curious yet fitting destiny. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the longest, loneliest time he had felt like he was the only one in the Blue Mountains who even remembered what Thorin looked like anymore. If Thorin’s memory was a city left to ruin, then he was the sole guardian of it, refusing to let him go, to let him pass into legend. He had held onto the small, everyday moments he had shared with Thorin. The way his eyes softened when he smiled, the way he secretly dreaded waking up in the morning, and the way he fingered a small flower on the ground when he thought he was alone. The simple, hobbit-like parts of Thorin, the only Thorin Bilbo would ever want to remember. Not Thorin the warrior, Thorin the martyr, Thorin the </span>
  <em>
    <span>king</span>
  </em>
  <span> — just Thorin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If any of the others were ever to see Thorin again, they would be left in awe. Thorin would be a legend returned from the dead, and it would be a ballad sung by minstrels to the end of the age. But when Bilbo does see Thorin — </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> he manages to find him — then it would be like meeting up with a hearty, old friend. For that was all Thorin was to Bilbo, even in the memory he kept of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Bilbo was chosen to join Thorin for this very reason. Perhaps Thorin did not want to be a legend, encased in history books and ornate statues. Perhaps there was a certain sincerity in the simplistic lifestyle, and he hid himself in search of that. And somehow, Thorin knew, even back then, that Bilbo would see him as he wanted to be seen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a way, perhaps Thorin knew that it would be Bilbo who knew him best. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this was all speculation, of course. Bilbo did tend to enjoy letting his mind wander, and sometimes it came to the most fantastical of places. Surely there would be some other explanation as to why the note had landed on Bilbo’s doorstep. Surely, he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> special to Thorin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A fell croak in the air woke Bilbo from his sleep. He looked to the skies with a frown, but it was clear and quiet with nothing in sight. “Garnet,” he muttered to himself, fumbling for the whistle. Had she run into trouble of her own? He gave it a blow and sat on his bedroll, waiting for her to emerge. Minutes passed, and even as the sun slowly began to climb the sky the bird was nowhere in sight. Bilbo chewed on his lower lip, and a feeling that something was very wrong indeed began growing in his belly. He tried the whistle again to no avail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear,” he sighed. He slipped his hand into his pocket, but his heart stopped when he found that it was noticeably empty. “My note,” he cried to himself. “Where is my note?” Quickly he scrambled to peer underneath his bedroll and his pack, and he patted down all his pockets and trousers, but still it was nowhere to be found. He seized his folded map and gave it a good shake, hoping that the small sheet of paper would slip out, and his heart only sank deeper when he found that it hadn’t wormed its way there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sneaking suspicion then came to Bilbo’s mind. It was one thing for one to lose an important note, but it was another thing altogether when the note was lost along with a winged messenger -- one who was skilled in delivering such notes. Had Garnet taken the note, then? But where would she go with it? The letter was one addressed </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bilbo, not from him. Panic began to rise in the hobbit’s chest. Surely she couldn’t have brought it back to the Blue Mountains! If Dis found out, then a double-betrayal would sit on Bilbo’s shoulders: one for revealing Thorin’s secret, that he was alive, and the other for keeping this very same secret from Dis, who trusted him like her own son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bilbo decided that the situation was too curious to simply call it a coincidence, he packed his provisions up and began to travel again, this time with the whistle clutched firmly in his hand. Once in a while he would blow on it, in hopes that the bird would return to him, but she never did. He called her name, too, despite not knowing if she would even recognise it. It was a good few hours of walking before Bilbo spotted a gleam of red, tucked against the pebbly banks of the river. He rushed to examine it, and sure enough, it was a mottled feather that came from a small raven. Bilbo could never be sure, but he was almost certain that it was Garnet’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was nearby, then! Then she surely would have heard the whistle, and the call of her master. What kept her from flying back to him? Bilbo waved the feather in his hand as he began to think. But then he saw another that laid on the ground away from the river, pointing towards the mountains. Whether it was deliberate or not, it would appear that Garnet had left a trail for him. So he began to venture towards the land. He knew fully well that it may take a long time for him to ever find the river again once he left it, but something within him spurred him on: a great curiosity of adventure, and some measure of desperation to ensure the safety of his bird. And the note from Thorin, of course. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost sundown when he found another feather resting at the base of a tall rock. When he bent over to pick it up, he found that the rock was carved in such a way that it made stairs leading all the way up to the top. Bilbo looked up, and his eyes lit up at a sight that he remembered from a long time ago. “Why, I know this rock! That’s the Carrock! Beorn’s very own viewing-stone!” he cried to himself. “Is she up there then, I wonder?” He cupped his hand to shield his eyes as he tried to look to the top of the rock against the glare of the setting sun. “Garnet? Are you up there, girl?” he called. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, suddenly, a flash of mottled red flew before his eyes, so fast and furious that it almost knocked him down to his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the raven did not stop to perch on Bilbo’s pack. Up the winding stairs of the Carrock she swirled, sailing up, up, up, like a kite on a summer’s day, until her brilliant red form was nothing but a speck in the sky. “Why, that’s her! Garnet! Wait!” Bilbo leapt to his feet and began to scramble up the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going? Come back!” Bilbo cried to the raven as he climbed the stairs. The steps were high, made for the wide stride of the Beorning, and much less so for hobbits -- every step reached his knees, and soon he was hauling, puffing, using as much arms as he did legs, dreading every step more than the last. It had been one thing to climb </span>
  <em>
    <span>down</span>
  </em>
  <span> the stairs of the Carrock, for all he had to do was to jump and land on his feet. He stared at the top of the cliff, so far away from view, yet he knew that something was there, waiting for him. Yes, there had to be. Ravens were smart like that -- the very best sort often got you into trouble if they were feeling up to it. Bilbo chuckled to himself. Oh, this would be one letter to write to Dis. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your lovely raven, my Garnet, while being of the very best sort, got into such mischief that had me climbing up the stairs of the Carrock! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, today would be a story to tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was adventure, Bilbo told himself as he continued to struggle up the stairs, feeling the familiar rhythm of thrill beat in his heart. Out here, climbing tall rocks, chasing ravens. Chasing answers to questions asked twenty years ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he tried and tried with all his might, eventually the glare of the setting sun and the steepness of the steps were too much for him to handle all at once. He sat down on a flat step and took his pack off his shoulders, trying desperately to catch his breath. “Perhaps an afternoon tea is in order,” he said to himself, feeling his head spin as the exhaustion began to catch up to him. From his pack he retrieved a small brick of lembas bread which he had neatly broken off and wrapped up, and he began to nibble on it, pinching it between his fingers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what am I doing?” he continued to say, to no one in particular. “Maybe this all meant nothing. Look at me, one flash of a raven and I go running up the most peculiar places. Now I’m lodged halfway upon a tall rock. Should I go up or down, then?” He chuckled. “Well, even if there’s nothing up there, I suppose it’ll make for a pretty good view.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to take another bite of his bread when suddenly, he heard a brash cry which echoed through the plains, before dissolving into the gold-washed trees of the vales. “Garnet?” Bilbo stood up so quickly that his lembas dropped from his hands, and it fell from the edge of the step and out of sight. “Garnet!” He began to run up the stairs again, his pack left forgotten on the rock. The depth of the steps, thankfully, had begun to shrink as they neared the top, and without his provisions heavy upon his back Bilbo found himself more light-footed and suited for scaling the final stretch of the stairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garnet?” At last, at long last, he had reached the top of the Carrock, washed aglow with the light of the setting sun. But it was then that he found that he was not alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His raven was there, but she was perched upon the arm of a man, and they both overlooked the sight beneath them. He wore a hooded cloak that fell to the floor, and his silhouette was so dark that Bilbo could not make out any colour, and barely the form of the man. But then,  he began to speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so you say your name is Garnet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mizimith</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Flown all the way from Ered Luin, you say! It must have been a long journey, then.” His voice was gruff and low, and the way he regarded the raven was almost fatherly, not unlike Dis and her manner of speaking with her beloved flock. But it also carried a gentleness that resonated with a voice that Bilbo knew all too well. His breath hitched, and he crept a step forward, careful to stay unseen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garnet, eh?” The man now said, chuckling softly to himself. “You have a most peculiar name for a raven, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mizimith</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It is not often that dwarrow would name their beloved pets after the jewels of the mountains. The naming habits of Halflings, on the other hand...” His voice drifted off then, first in fondness, and then it wavered slightly, faltering, as if uncertainty and suspicion had begun to creep into the very words he had left hanging in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come again?” he said, slower this time. “You say you are loyal to a hobbit? Of the Blue Mountains?” And this time the words rang through the air until it reached Bilbo’s ears, like the sacred clang of the moment when the hammer met the anvil, forever changing the form of the metal it tended. It was as though something in Bilbo’s fate was sealed at the very moment in time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mizimith</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” From Garnet’s beak he plucked a folded note, and as it moved under the glow of the sun Bilbo saw that it glimmered, as if it had been coated with gold-dust. The paper was fragile, as if it had been rain-soaked and sun-baked, all while lodged in the gaps beneath a round, green door with a golden knob. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And for a moment Bilbo wanted to retreat. To sneak down the stairs, back the way he came, and then over the Misty Mountains, and back to his cosy little room in Ered Luin. For surely, it was a ghost and nothing more that fell before his eyes, and if he tried to catch it, it may crumble in his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bilbo had caught a butterfly once, down the Hill by the Brandywine River. He was a mere fauntling then, and in his excitement he had seized the poor creature with too much fervour and crushed its fragile wings in his chubby fingers. When he opened his fist again, the butterfly was no longer beautiful, but a crushed mess of crumpled colours and insect gut. And Bilbo feared that, if he pursued these ghosts with too much vigour, they, too, would disappear before his very eyes. A brief dream, and nothing more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was a bigger part of Bilbo, one made of Tookish courage and good hobbit-sense. For the fact of the matter, he knew that he was witnessing something that was alive and real. He could feel the rock of the Carrock beneath his feet, he could hear perfectly well and see clearly, and if Garnet was real, then so, too was the man before his eyes. His senses never betrayed him, and surely, they wouldn’t fail now. So he took a deep breath and took a step forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe that’s mine, actually. The note, I mean. But you would know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The figure froze. He whispered something to the raven, and the bird took flight, and disappeared from sight. Then he began to turn towards Bilbo in a slow, sweeping motion, until, beneath his cloak, he stared directly at the hobbit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you, Thorin?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the figure raised his hands to his face and threw back the hood of his cloak. Dark, silver-tinged hair spilled onto his shoulders, and two blue eyes regarded Bilbo, wide with wonder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there Thorin was. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mizimith -- jewel that is little. Quite fitting for Garnet, no? </p><p>I told y'all this would be raven ex machina. Now to see what happens next... ;)</p><p>C&amp;C welcome, just leave it down there! Or hmu on Tumblr, I'm @/small-flower there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bilbo liked the colour blue well enough. It reminded him of Midsummer’s Day in the Shire, when rich flowers would bloom against the fabric of a clear and cloudless sky. It also reminded him of the Blue Mountains, where he had made his home for the past twenty years. Those shades of blue were darker, more ornate -- certainly fitting of the dwarves which lived underneath its coloured peaks. They were colours that changed with weather, with daylight and rain clouds, and they were dynamic, never exactly the same.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there was a blue that was constant, never changing, and it haunted him every time he closed his eyes. Thorin’s eyes; they were pale and grey-tinted, but always, the blue blazed like a fire in the forge. It never receded, rain or shine, for it was a captured memory, a fraction of a second where Thorin had stared at Bilbo too deeply, and branded himself into Bilbo’s soul by mistake. Now Thorin’s eyes pierced the golden wash of the sun, and they were blue, blue as Bilbo had remembered, and unchanged for the most part. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good heavens.” Bilbo whispered. “It really is you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You found my note,” Thorin said quietly, taking a step towards the hobbit. “You came.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I came? Of course I came. Although that’s not really fair, I didn’t know where to go. I just wandered out the door with this note in hand, I…” Bilbo fidgeted with his hands. “It seemed to have a sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it, it just… somehow, I felt like, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>kne</span>
  </em>
  <span>w that it would lead me back to --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-- lead you back to me,” Thorin finished, at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Bilbo mumbled. With that, Thorin turned and began to walk towards the ledge of the Carrock, and Bilbo quickly moved to follow by his side. Though he was no longer a king, Thorin still walked with a majestic stride that left the wind behind him as he moved, and his shoulders were a broad frame from which hung his cloak -- a shade of grey-black which easily disguised him as any other dwarf. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ered Luin?” Thorin asked, his gaze fixed on the plains before the both of them. Bilbo shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried to go back to the Shire, but that didn’t bode well. They took everything from my house, you see.” He chuckled dryly. “I really did love living amongst dwarves, I soon found out. They treat you like family, more than anyone in the Shire ever did. But I couldn’t stay in Erebor. So Ered Luin it was.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Erebor? Did something happen in Erebor?” Thorin turned to face him, and Bilbo could see a streak of concern in his eyes. Bilbo blinked, a little surprised that he cared at all for the affairs of his old realm. But then again, how couldn’t he? Even if he wasn’t living there anymore, it was still home to his kin. And his people, if he still considered himself their leader. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing of that sort. Erebor is fine. Prospering, really, if the letters from the rest of the Company are to be trusted.” Bilbo tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Fili’s been doing some good work, and Balin and Dwalin are helping him. Between you and me, there’s talk of a wedding going on soon.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, good.” Even so, Thorin seemed disinterested at best in what Bilbo was saying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is something wrong?” The hobbit mumbled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave, Bilbo?” Thorin asked quietly. He tucked his hands behind his back and gazed out towards the plains again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Bilbo glanced at the floor. “I wanted to stay. I really did. I didn’t leave until before Fili’s coronation. But…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It just didn’t seem right. You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Bilbo’s hands made fists, and he felt his eyes begin to water with tears. “I helped oversee a lot of the restorations of Erebor, you see. As a favour to our friends. But you were everywhere in that mountain. I saw you everywhere. In the tapestries, in the royal paintings. In every stone wall and carving they erected I saw your face, I saw your very </span>
  <em>
    <span>spirit</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the mountain. I heard your voice in the echoes of the mines. I saw your eyes in every jewel they dug up, in every light they hung from the ceilings. I look in the forge and it’s as if you were there yourself, working away at some precious metal. I just couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> --” Bilbo’s voice thinned into a sob, and hastily he scrubbed at his face with a hand. “I couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Seeing you everywhere. You were in the very heartbeat of the mountain.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And it hurt so much, this longing. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And grief, of course.” Now the tears fell freely, so fast that Bilbo couldn’t catch them all with his hands. “They were worried about me, you know. Balin and Dwalin and everyone. They said I wasn’t eating. They said I’d grown thin. And I wasn’t sleeping. It was… you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>haunting</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfair</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- you should have been here. Every day I loathed myself, that I was in Erebor and you were not. You deserved to see it. All of it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I would have stayed, you know. Maybe I would have weathered the pain like any other death.” The words came flying out of Bilbo’s lips now, words that he had left unspoken all these years, hidden within his heart. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared</span>
  </em>
  <span> about you too much to see you gone. It’s... torturous. I just couldn’t bear it anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly Thorin drew Bilbo into an embrace, so swift a motion that Bilbo felt the air knocked out of him. Bilbo’s head rested on Thorin’s shoulder, soft and fur-lined, and in the muffle of fabric Bilbo found himself bawling, as if he had broken the dam which had held back the river of his grief. It thundered through his body, making him shake like a leaf, and he felt himself sinking further into Thorin’s arms. Or perhaps it was that Thorin held him tighter, his hand curling into his hair and stroking him gently, in comfort. In apology. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Thorin murmured. “For all the pain I have caused you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No! Thorin, I’m glad, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so glad</span>
  </em>
  <span> --” Bilbo began to blubber. “You’re here, and you’re alive, and it’s more than I could have hoped for. I am so </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>lucky, I really am. Oh, Thorin.” He leaned against the dwarf now, feeling the final waves of tears slowly recede from him. Now he was all cried out, like a washing-cloth with the final drops of water wrung from him, and he sighed. “I’m sorry for crying like that,” he murmured against the fabric of his shirt. “It’s not decent.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t apologise,” Thorin said as he gently released the hobbit from his embrace. Bilbo wiped his face with his sleeve and shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but Thorin spoke first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bilbo… look.” Thorin took the note that he had held in his hand and unfolded it for the hobbit to see. Under the final light of day the paper shone golden, but the writing upon it had also begun to glow a bright, moonlit blue at the very same time. Then Thorin tilted Bilbo’s chin up, and where Thorin had directed his gaze Bilbo saw the sun hanging low in the sky, and beside it stood the last moon of Autumn, a brilliant grey shadow that was stained blue as the day began to darken. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The sun </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the moon,” Bilbo whispered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Durin’s Day,” Thorin said softly. Then a rustling sound came from Thorin’s hand, and as they watched the note began to burn and crumble, as if it had been lit on a golden fire with streaks of azure leaping within. At the very same moment the wind came upon them, and from Thorin’s hand it stirred the ashes of the note and carried it off in the air. Breathlessly they watched as the final specks soared away in the air, like whispers of butterflies set free into the world. In this way the note, once bound to the powers of the sun and moon, had fulfilled its task, and it faded away as dust in the wind, reduced to nothing but the stuff of dreams. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is said, in our fairy tales, that Durin’s Day is blessed with an enchantment, cast by our Maker himself,” Thorin murmured. “There is a peculiar magic to it, if you chose to believe it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is magic that has the power to bring wanderers home, no matter how far they are separated. It is in this way that Mahal sought to reunite himself with that which he has created, and rekindle the bond of love that was forged at the very moment we were born.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like how we found Erebor twenty years ago,” Bilbo said in wonder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And, twenty years later, Mahal has brought you back to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bilbo should have seen what was coming next. He could very well have anticipated it, were he the observant kind, but his head was too wrapped up in the intricate wonder of it all to even begin to comprehend the physical world around him. Which was why he didn’t notice the way Thorin cupped his cheek, tilting his face to his, nor was he aware of Thorin’s breath, close and warm on his face, or the fact that his other hand had moved to draw the two of them closer. He was blissfully unaware of the whole matter until Thorin had pressed his lips to Bilbo’s in a slow, crushing motion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It would be a lie if Bilbo denied that he had ever dreamed of this moment. That he would get to see Thorin again, to speak to him and to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with him all over again. But never in his fantasies did he ever envision Thorin loving him </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And for a split second he wanted to pull away, because everything had happened so fast and his mind was spinning and he couldn’t process all of that on an empty stomach and tired legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he kissed back. He reached on his tip-toes to press himself closer to Thorin, and in a rush of longing he brought his hands to Thorin’s face to anchor himself better. His beard scrapped against his hands, and along with it came a faint dampness that Bilbo could only recognise as tears. And so, under the final light of Durin’s Day they shared a lingering kiss, tender and brimming with past longings now fulfilled. As the two came together something beautiful began to grow in their hearts, something nurtured with forgiveness, and love mingled with grief.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should have done this a long time ago,” Thorin murmured against his lips. “I should have told you from the very first time we met.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All the way back?” Bilbo breathed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And every moment since.” Thorin gently pulled away from him now, moving his hand to lightly finger the tip of his ear. “My dear burglar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured in reply. Not Thorin King, or Thorin the undying legend. Just plainly, simply, dear old Thorin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I had found this note earlier. I wish I found you the very moment you showed up at my door. I would have gone anywhere with you.” Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and began tracing it with his finger, feeling all the callouses that marked his hand. The most pronounced ones were on his palm and fingers, no doubt from a lifetime of working at the anvil and wielding his weapons. Were they perhaps a hint of what he had been doing over the years? But there were also bumps over his fingertips, like beetle-shells on his skin. “What’s this from?” he murmured, thumbing the spot gently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My harp,” Thorin replied softly, watching Bilbo’s hands move over his’. Bilbo nodded, forever marveling over the fact, that despite the roughness they had seen, the very same hands could produce something as tender as music. Thorin played the harp as if he drew music from flowing water, and although Bilbo had only heard it once or twice, its magic had never left his heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you ever tell me about all the places you’ve gone? And what happened to you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where should I start?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ravenhill.” Bilbo stared up at the dwarf, his voice growing serious. “I was with you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was. You were dying, I was crying and everything had started to go black. I remembered the eagles descending upon us, but when I woke again they told me you were… you were…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They never found your body, and eventually they told me you were dead. And we had a ceremony. They made a statue of you and laid the Arkenstone on your tomb. But you didn’t really die, did you?” Bilbo chuckled to himself. “Of course you didn’t. But how?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even as I was dying, I knew I couldn’t go back. I would never gain the trust of my people again, not after all I had put them through. Likewise, negotiations with Dale and Mirkwood would be impossible. And Azog would have stopped at nothing until I was dead. Can you imagine it, Bilbo? Siege upon siege on Erebor, while the world stood back and watched.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that --” Bilbo began, but Thorin cut him off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I knew enough. Fili would have made a fine king, and my sins would be forgiven with my death. It would have been a new start for Erebor. The strongholds of the North would stand and prosper without me. And I was content with this arrangement. It was the way it had to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The eagle Landroval carried me to a hidden ravine not far off from the Lonely Mountain. There Tharkûn healed my wounds and restored my strength. Then, with the little gold I carried still, I left the North.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So you were planning to spend the rest of your life… in hiding? In exile?” Bilbo said, reaching his hand to grasp Thorin’s arm. “Away from the people you love? From the people who loved you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Word of Erebor would always travel. And that of the Blue Mountains. It was in that way that I kept up with my kin. But there was yet one who I could not hear from.” Thorin touched Bilbo’s cheek gently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I came looking for you. I knew the path this time.” And he laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “When you weren’t here, I left you a note.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But the note… it was magic, wasn’t it? You said so yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There was a collection of runestones in the hoard of Erebor, imbued with different powers.” From his pocket he took a pebble-like stone that sat snugly on the palm of his hand. “I am no master, but I was able to cast a small enchantment upon the paper. In truth, I did not know if it would work,” he admitted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It did,” Bilbo sighed. “If only I found it twenty years ago. Things are so different now, you see. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get to join you on one of your adventures ever again.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you say that?” Thorin said, a sharp pang of hurt in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. You’re tired, Thorin, I see it in you. If I know you as well as I did, that is. You’ve been wandering for years now, I assume doing bits of smithery and whatnot to stay afloat. I imagine you’ve been through Middle Earth and back again -- but you never really wanted that, did you? To see the world, I mean. You wanted a home. That’s why you set off for Erebor, but you couldn’t… you’ve found a home for everyone but yourself. And that’s what you ever really wanted. A home.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a while Thorin said nothing, but he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “After all these years, you’re still the one who knows me best,” he said quietly. “You are right, Bilbo, of course you are. But you make a home of Ered Luin, and I cannot stay there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have pledged your service to my sister, and I cannot take that away from you. I would not allow myself to. But surely you understand why I must stay hidden. I’m sorry, Bilbo. I did not want you to choose. If I had known that you would be amongst my kin…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bilbo sighed. “I suppose I really would be lying if I said that I wouldn’t miss Dis. And Ered Luin. She helped me so much after your… death. But Thorin, I have spent my entire life wishing that you were alive. I have written so many vows, so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>plans </span>
  </em>
  <span>in my diary of what I would do, if I ever got to see you again. And today Mahal, or whoever looks over us, really, has given me a second chance with you. I won’t waste it. Not this time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We cannot stay in Ered Luin, yes. But there is one place still, hidden in the kindly West, that we could make a home of, if you would follow me.” Bilbo looked up at Thorin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I cannot claim to be inviting you as a host, because quite frankly it hasn’t been my home for quite a long time. But we can start over together, if you will have me, and suffer the dust and the weeds and the overgrowth, at least until we get it all sorted out.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you mean…” Bilbo nodded, his eyes shining. He clasped Thorin’s hands in his own, pressing them to his heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How would you like to live in Bag End?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprise! Posted this a little early for you guys to enjoy. Can’t believe we’re one chapter away from the end, man. I don’t usually write multi-chapters but this was so fun ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ </p>
<p>I got a lot of my inspiration from Taylor Swift’s new album folklore! The music suits Bagginshield really well imo. Check it out if you have the time!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a queer sort of fuss that ocurred in Hobbiton when Bilbo Baggins came striding back into Bag End with a dwarf companion in tow. It wasn’t quite the sort that was alarming enough to gather immediate attention, but it was the type of fuss that got passed around in the marketplace, and at taverns and around the fields. “Did you hear that Mad Baggins is back in the Shire?” They would say of him, almost as often as they would talk of second breakfast or a good leaf of pipeweed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ones who lived close enough to Bag End soon followed a peculiar habit of keeping their windows open and the curtains drawn, despite the evening drafts that came with the thick of winter. As long as there was a light on at Bag End, the neighbours wouldn’t sleep, for simply, there was nothing quite as pleasing as the stunned faces of your guests when you tell them what the odd couple had been up to overnight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I reckon they got into an argument again -- I heard raised voices right around suppertime, and I’m certain it came from Underhill. Just what is that Baggins and his queer old friend up to?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What Bilbo was up to, and Thorin with him, was the restoration of the great smial of Bag End. It was no easy task by any means -- it was in such a state of disrepair when they first discovered it. The floors were dusty, whatever remaining furniture was thoroughly cobwebbed, and a great deal of left-behind books and paper were diligently chewed through by mice, leaving only unreadable scraps. The wallpaper had begun to peel, and the wood was damp and musty. Notably, of course, most of Bilbo’s furniture had been auctioned off and was never heard from again, and so the pair found themselves in a pitiful lack of a dining table and a second bed for Thorin to sleep in, amongst other things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We ought to stay in an inn for the first few nights,” Bilbo had said as the pair glanced around the dishevelled smial for the first time. “Until we get the house shipshape. Then hopefully we’ll have gotten a second bed for you, but if not, you can take mine, and I’ll lay out my bedroll by the fireplace.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bed hadn’t arrived by the time the pair deemed the interiors of Bag End suitable for habitation. So, despite Thorin’s protests, Bilbo took the floor by the fireplace, and the dwarf was tucked away in Bilbo’s comfortable bedroom. During the first night, however, Thorin was woken up by a rustling in his room, and when he sat up to investigate he found Bilbo rummaging around in his drawers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bilbo?” </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Bilbo had squeaked, looking quite guilty of himself. “I was just trying to look for extra blankets. It’s a little chilly, and we’re out of firewood. I’ll just slip right out, don’t mind me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently. “Your bed is spacious enough for two people. Even a dwarf as big as me.” He patted the empty space next to him. Bilbo’s face flushed two shades brighter. “Do you mean… we ought to share a bed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is there a problem?” Thorin asked then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… it’s just that… in my culture, at least, you don’t really share a sleeping space with someone unless you’ve been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate</span>
  </em>
  <span> with them. I know we’re in a courtship… thing… whatever we are. But still, this is rather… new to me, you see.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this any different from when we laid our bedrolls side by side during our journey?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we were travelling then. We didn’t have much choice, it was cold and we had to share warmth. But now… we’re in a… relationship, see. It’s different. I don’t know how, but it is.” Bilbo picked at his fingers. “I’m sorry if I sound fussy. I just want to do it right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Thorin smiled. “Would you like to give it a try, then? We don’t have to be intimate. We can simply… share warmth, as if we were travelling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Bilbo began to creep closer towards the unoccupied side of the bed. “If you don’t mind. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> quite cold out there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Thorin assured him, pulling the covers back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t disturb you, I hope, I’ll just slip right in… there.” Bilbo clung to the edge of the bed, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. “There we are.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Thorin asked as he lay down as well, spreading the comforters evenly between the two of them. “There’s plenty of space.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” But he really wasn’t fine, because Thorin was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him, and he somehow managed to look </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>attractive in his nightshirt, so soft and big and </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As Bilbo lay there he began to worry that his body would act in all sorts of atrocious ways that would make an embarrassment of himself. But the bed was so warm, and Thorin’s body radiated a wonderful heat, and it was so cold out. Eventually, Bilbo forgot his worries and fell into a comfortable sleep, in a sweet cocoon of warmth, and Thorin’s scent never far off from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bilbo woke, he found himself clinging onto Thorin like a burr, with his arms comfortably stretched around his stomach and his head pillowed on his chest. “Oh dear,” he muttered to himself, feeling a bright flush come onto his face. But then he felt Thorin’s fingers sifting lazily through his curls, and when he craned his neck he saw the dwarf staring down at him, looking quite content in the haze of the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah. You’re awake,” Bilbo said sheepishly. Out of courtesy, he really should be detangling himself from Thorin, but then again, he was so comfortable and soft and </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he really didn’t seem to mind. So instead Bilbo clung a little tighter to him, marvelling at the muscle and flesh that rose and fell with his slow, even breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you sleep well?” Thorin asked lazily. Bilbo nodded. “Yes, quite.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quite a bit better than sleeping on a bedroll without a fire in the thick of winter, I assume?” Thorin cocked a knowing eyebrow at him, and Bilbo chuckled, hiding his face in Thorin’s chest. “Yes, yes. You’re quite right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Bilbo abandoned the idea of bedrolls, even after he had found his old collection of blankets and Thorin had procured a good collection of firewood. Even after Thorin’s bed arrived, they soon found out that Bilbo’s bed, which they now shared, was decidedly better, and so they pushed the spare one to the guest room on the other side of the smial and left it at that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon enough there were other waves of rumours floating around Hobbiton, that of “Mr. Baggins and his peculiar dwarf friend”. To some, it seemed like they weren’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> at all, but rather, something of a much closer sort. No one really asked them, of course, and they hadn’t really said anything of it themselves, but no hobbit could miss the way they leaned against each other when they went out for a walk, arms interlaced, or the way they shared a drink at the Floating Log, private and scandalously tender, all at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> uncommon an affair, and while it made for brilliant gossip most hobbits tended to be good-natured towards that sort of relationship. But still, whenever there was anything to do with Bilbo Baggins, word tended to spread like an excitable fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s already a peculiar sort in himself, Mad Baggins, he really is. What’s one more, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But he’s a hobbit, and that Oakenshield mister is a dwarf! How do you reckon they would… see to their… business?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With plenty of care and no small amount of oil, one hopes!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They spent the rest of the winter working mostly indoors, tucked away from sight and all that further gossip, and by the first morning of Spring the interior of Bag End had been restored to its former glory. The walls were clean and re-papered, the furniture replaced to suit their fancies, and it was a very good sort of hobbit-hole, with polished wooden floors and a roaring fire in the living room. It was then that Bilbo and Thorin could no longer hold off on the inevitable and turned their attention to the garden.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been away for so long, the weeds must have taken root deep in the ground. And no one really took care of the wilted plants, either -- I hope they haven’t ruined the soil completely. Oh dear, I’ll have to go out for compost now, won’t I? I’ll see if Hamfast has any he’s willing to spare.” Bilbo had said one morning, as he began surveying the brambles that had overtaken his fence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin took one look at the dishevelled garden, and despite his lack of knowledge for any gardening he pledged that he wouldn’t rest until he saw the weeds pulled, the soil recovered, and the garden restored. Bilbo laughed then, because he had never seen such a determined gardener in his life, and certainly not a gardener who looked strong enough to pull down a tree with his bare hands. The strength of gardening, Bilbo had always felt, was one that was quiet and enduring, and while it was quite unlike dwarves to ever have the patience to do so, he rather felt like it suited Thorin well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a good deal of teaching, but Thorin was a fast learner when he set his mind to it, and so by midday he had gotten into a steady rhythm of raking his fingers through the hard, gnarled earth and digging out the most stubborn of roots. In fact, he was so into the whole affair, that by the time Bilbo had retreated inside the house to prepare for dinner Thorin was still working away at the garden, even as the day began to lose its light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thorin, come in and wash up,” Bilbo called from the window of the kitchen, sounding rather like a mother gathering her children for dinner. “We can continue working on it tomorrow, it looks like it may rain anytime soon, and it’ll get quite cold out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll manage,” Thorin had called back, with the typical stubbornness that only Bilbo could reason with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you won’t,” he retorted with a snort. “You’ll freeze out there, and your hands will be chattering so hard that you can’t even grab onto anything properly! Then the earth will get cold, and you’ll be nothing but miserable, and your fingers will get so raw that you won’t be able to hold a spoon for a week! And this is coming from someone whose mother made him do the gardening before dinner as a fauntling,” he added triumphantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, I should hope that your efforts are better redirected to helping me set the table for dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally Thorin relented, and by the time he had cleaned himself up Bilbo had already laid out a wonderful tater and beef stew, and for a moment the troubles of the garden were well forgotten as the two shared a meal in the homely house of Bag End. But there was another problem that seemed to hang in the air, for when Bilbo finished his meal and began to clean the table up he was unusually quiet, as if he was deep in thought about some troubling, important matter. He barely picked at the apple cobbler before deciding that he was full for the night, and even as he curled up with his favourite book in an armchair opposite Thorin’s he was quite distracted, and barely turned a page the entire night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bilbo? Is something wrong?” Thorin asked him then, setting down his pipe. The hobbit shrugged with a little smile. “It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking about Dís.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dís?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your sister,” Bilbo teased. “Or did you forget her already?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know who she is,” Thorin grumbled. “What about her? Do you wish to visit Ered Luin when the weather gets warmer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that'd be lovely — but that’s not what I was thinking.” Bilbo set his book on the ground and brought his feet to the seat, so that he could rest his head on his knees. “This concerns you, actually. In a way.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do tell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just… I feel like she ought to know. About you. You’re really the only family she has left, apart from Fili and Kili. I’m not saying you have to reveal yourself to everyone out there, that’d be absurd. Believe me, I know a thing or two about being presumed dead.” Bilbo shook his head with a sigh. “But she’s your sister, Thorin. Surely that counts for something. At least, if I had a brother, I’d want to know that they were alive and well. Even if it’s a secret I had to take to the grave. I’d do it. For them.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But it’s been so long since,” Thorin trained his eyes on the fireplace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you scared of her, then?” Bilbo tilted his head knowingly, and a blush rose to Thorin’s face. “N-no, it’s not that!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are!” Bilbo laughed. “Oh, I’m sure she’d give you an earful once she found out. And me, too. I can imagine it now. She’d completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>annihilate</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, and you’d let her, because she’s your dear baby sister whom you love so much. Now don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right. But after that,” he added, in a softer voice, “I’m sure she’d be quite happy to know that you’re safe and well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well?” he said, after a long period of silence on Thorin’s part. “What do you say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a tempting proposition, Bilbo, it really is. But what if the letter -- if I ever wrote one -- is intercepted? My position would then be revealed, and it may bring about more harm than good. You have a kind heart, Bilbo. But still the dangers are too great. Perhaps some things are best left are they are.” He stood then, and his form was beautifully illuminated by the glow of the fire. At the very moment Bilbo felt his heart leap. He would never be used to the sight of Thorin in his home, for at times he seemed too great, too majestic to even be sharing a humble life in the Shire with him. Still, he had made his choice, and Bilbo was all the more determined to ensure that it was one that he did not regret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some more pipeweed?” Thorin asked, gently touching Bilbo’s arm as he walked past. Bilbo shook his head with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Bilbo stared into the fire, and as the flames moved and danced with a brilliant red light he saw the image of a bird taking flight, and suddenly a new idea took root in his mind. “My goodness,” he exclaimed to himself. “That’s it! That’s it.” He leapt to his feet and began pacing the space, his feet leaving soft patters on the wood. “I suppose it could work… I’ve never really asked him, but it’s worth a try… if not, we’ll find a way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin came back after a while, with his pipe filled up and a mug of herbal tea for Bilbo, made exactly the way he liked it. “Oh, thank you,” Bilbo said, cupping the drink between his hands. “Thorin…” “Yes?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know raven-speech, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aye, some of it. I had the help of ravens during my travels. I cannot say I am well-versed, but I know it, yes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bilbo began to grin. “What if… what if you sent your message through raven-speech? You can speak it, and Dis can understand it, after all. And since they wouldn’t be carrying any letters, there wouldn’t be anything to intercept at all! Think about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mahal, that’s brilliant!” Thorin’s pipe all but fell out of his hands. “Perhaps it could work. But then again, there’s one small detail…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which is?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have a raven, Bilbo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?” Bilbo’s cat-like smirk only grew wider as he drew a small yew whistle from his pocket. “We’ll see about that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If the neighbours ever saw a bird barrelling through the windows of Bag End that evening, they were polite enough to avoid mentioning it to either Bilbo or Thorin. After all, it didn’t seem to plague the fields for seeds, and it seemed awfully well-behaved, for a raven, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin spent the rest of the evening hunched over the dining table, slowly and patiently repeating words to the mottled-feathered bird. When the candle was burned to its end and morning fell upon the house once more, Bilbo and Thorin took Garnet the raven and set her towards the path of the West, and there, in each other’s embrace, they watched as her red shape disappeared towards the mountains, blue and far away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was late spring, and the garden had been stripped down to its most basic form -- good, fertile soil, a repainted fence, and newly-installed wooden planters for Bilbo’s infamous tomatoes and carrots. There wasn’t really any point in trying to grow any spring crops, so Bilbo set his sights for an autumn harvest of pumpkins and taters instead. Still, he lined the windows with lovely potted flowers that he’d bought from the marketplace -- tall stalks of sunflowers that chased the daylight, lush marigolds and foxgloves, and special roses that Bilbo took extra care to water each day, and prune when leaves withered, though they rarely did under his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now there were a few types of flowers in Middle Earth that Bilbo knew of. Elven flowers were thin and delicate, beautiful but fleeting, as if a gust of wind could knock them over. They were small yet ornate, as if they were wrought of ropes of gold. Shire flowers, on the other hand, were rich and colourful, like the very jewels in the mountains. They were cheerful and enduring, and something about them never failed to put a smile on Thorin’s face. And it was this peculiar quality of Shire flowers that made Bilbo quite proud of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which was why the poor hobbit was quite appalled when he woke up one morning to find his prized flowers knocked over, leaving a trail of soil that spilled from the window into his kitchen. Upon further investigation, he soon found the culprits of the intrusion to be a large, black-feathered raven that perched on the dining table, who cawed at Bilbo for food as soon as he saw him. He bore no letter with him, but tied around his neck was an intricate token-box of dwarf-make.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not long after, his own red raven joined the larger bird on the table, with another box of her own tied around her neck and a letter clasped firmly in her beak. The name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bilbo Baggins</span>
  </em>
  <span> was inscripted with care on the envelope, and in a penscript that was distinctly familiar to him. Then the issue of his flowers were forgotten, and a wide grin split on his face as he fumbled to untie the box from Garnet’s neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to help the other raven with his box too, but the bird deftly hopped away from his hands and gave him a rather stern stare. “Oh, that’s… not for me, then?” he asked awkwardly, and the raven tilted his head at him. “It’s for… Thorin? From Dis, too?” When the raven made no reply, Bilbo sighed and gave him a tentative pet on the head instead. Of all the talents he had in the world, raven-speech would never be one of them. Then, as excitement overtook him once more, he gathered up his letter and the box and went to curl up in his favourite armchair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as he had disappeared from the room, Thorin entered, and at the sight of two ravens on the table his eyes lit up. With great care, he took the box from the raven’s neck and drew up a chair. Then, he lowered his head to the raven’s beak and waited, carefully, for him to repeat the message which he carried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My dear friend, Bilbo, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had not known where your journey would lead you when you set off from Ered Luin. In fact, your last letter, if you would call it one, has taken me quite by surprise. But that was always your nature, was it not, Master Baggins? Full of surprises and unexpected journeys, for such a small hobbit as yourself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have watched you live in my realm for years, but never have I truly felt that you had found your home until today. Do not take offence when I say this, my friend! I know that home is made not with the dwelling, but with the heart. And even when we first met, I have known that your heart belonged with Thorin, wherever you may be, in Erebor or Ered Luin. May you hold him close to your side, now that you have found him! You will always have my blessing in your endeavours with him, whatever they may be. I trust that you will take good care of him in my stead, and I am at peace knowing that the ones I love the most are safe and sound.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For years I have watched you finger this trinket in your pocket, as if you were waiting for the opportune moment to bring it to use. It seemed so dear to you, and I was surprised that it was amongst the possessions you left behind in Ered Luin when you left. I suppose you were reluctant to nurture it anywhere that you did not feel was truly your home. I should think now would be the time to plant this acorn, my friend. May it take kindly to the Shire soil, in the garden which you call your home. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With love always,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dis.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bilbo opened the box, he found, sitting on top of a folded handkerchief, the acorn from Beorn’s garden. He held it in his palm, and there it sat squarely, looking unchanged despite the years, and rather healthy at that. He gave it a small kiss and set it back in his box. He would wait until Thorin was done with his letter, then they would plant it together in the garden, where he had always intended it to be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thorin, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should hope that my raven gave you a good boxing on the ears in my stead, as you are listening to his words. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He did,” Thorin grumbled, rubbing the spot on his ear where the bird had nibbled him with such fervour that he drew blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Make no mistake, you are a downright scoundrel. A hound of the very worst sort. How could you have had the heart to conceal yourself away from me for all these years? You were the only one I had left, after Frerin, and after my husband. I couldn’t trust anyone else the way I trusted you. I thought I’d lost you forever. And out of the blue, my hobbit’s raven shows up with your words at her beak! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are lucky that my rage, while plenty, does not yet overtake my love for you. Mahal, so it’s true, then? You’re really alive and well? I can scarcely believe that I am talking to you. Don’t you worry, my dear brother, your secret will be safe with me. I may love my sons and my people, but there is a part of me still that is loyal to my big brother, and there is much I would do for you still. Perhaps in time, forgiving you would be one of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In truth, Thorin, I have my reservations about leaving Bilbo in your hands. He is a rare treasure of the world, a kindly soul of the West, and I have taken quite a liking to him. If you betray his trust or leave him again, I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will</span>
  <em>
    <span> have words with you, and they won’t be as kind this time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The raven paused then, and gave Thorin another warning peck to his brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But still, you say much more with the words that you have withheld from me. This is why I have sent you the marriage-beads of Mother and Father, which they have left in my care when they passed away. When my husband commissioned his own beads for our union, I had thought that they would never again see the light of day, but now I know that they cannot be in better hands than that of yours. When you find the right time, put them to good use. I will await the good news in further writing, and forever I will remain guardian of your secret, and your love in the Shire. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your loving sister and servant,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dis. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin opened the box then, and found two beads nestled within a dark blue velvet. They looked as though they had been recently polished with great care, and they smelled faintly of the Blue Mountains. They took on a different gleam under the sunlight, but even as he held them in his palm he was reminded of the way the very same beads caught the light when his parents would dance in the corridors of the long halls, when they thought they were alone for the night. It was a beautiful love in motion, fierce and tender, and ever since Thorin had laid his eyes upon the sight he had hoped that he would find the very same love one day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time had once left his dream well-forgotten, but now it resurfaced in his mind again as the beads rolled in his palm, and he realised that he had found, long ago, what he had been chasing for his entire life. He studied the beads again: one was set in a blue adamant, and the other in ruby, for red gems, though common in production, were his mother’s favourite, and they matched her kindly brown eyes well. Thorin’s heart soared now at the thought of this very bead in Bilbo’s sandy locks, unweathered and radiant, bearing the majesty of the dwarves, yet humble in its own way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My friend…” He turned to the raven now, who seemed to be in better spirits, and less eager to give him another pecking. “Tell my dear sister that she is wanted in the Shire on Midsummer’s Day. If all goes well, I should want her presence to witness my proposal to Bilbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He tucked the beads away then, keeping the box in his breast pocket, and he sent the raven on his way. It was not a moment too soon, for Bilbo walked in the room then, with Dis’ package in his hands and tears in his eyes, and he gave Thorin a long, wordless embrace. Then, he sat on his lap and read him the letter, and Thorin smiled at the mention of the acorn, which now lay in its opened box on the table, for he remembered the sight of it well from when he had first seen it in Erebor. For even when his mind was lost to the brilliance of the Arkenstone it had given him a moment of clarity, where he had learned to love the things that were grown and cared for by hand. It was a humble love, not fierce and selfish, but it grew steadily with passing years, and it was calm and patient, beautiful, like all the good things of the Shire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bilbo had finished his letter, he took the seed in one hand, and Thorin’s hand in another, and led him out to the garden, where an empty spot had been saved, perfectly-sized by chance for an oak tree to grow over the years. There, they dug their hands in the soil and planted the acorn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Bilbo said as he sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow, “this isn’t so bad after all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin mumbled something then, so soft that Bilbo could barely hear him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” Thorin looked at him, a smile on his face. His eyes glittered blue, dancing like the flowing creeks of Bywater, and his face was gentle and content, in a way that it had not been for a very long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! That’s a bit of a surprise,” Bilbo chuckled, for while they spent a good deal of their time showing their affections to each other he hardly </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> it directly from Thorin’s lips. Then he felt himself grow unusually sheepish, and he cleared his throat twice. “Well, not really. We’ve been together for quite a while now. Erm. What I mean to say is… I love you too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thorin leaned in then, and he was so close that it was almost tempting to kiss him right then and there. But in the very same moment Bilbo stood up and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, I don’t suppose this acorn will grow if we kept staring at it. What do you say we head back in and fix up some lunch?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That would be lovely,” Thorin said as he stood up as well, with just the faintest hint of disappointment in his voice. Bilbo reached up on his toes then, and pressed his lips to Thorin’s. Thorin chuckled then, a warm, rumbling sound in his chest. “You would steal a kiss from the King under the Mountain?” He teased as he moved to hold the hobbit by the waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I may remind you, it’s been a while since anyone has called you king,” Bilbo retorted as he pulled away. “Except myself, perhaps. I rather fancy having you as the king of my heart.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you would expect the </span>
  <em>
    <span>king</span>
  </em>
  <span> to wash the dishes and dust the mantelpiece?” Thorin said, though they both knew that he was not truly complaining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As any good king should!” Bilbo said with a huff as they began to move towards the house. Thorin laughed then, his hand resting on Bilbo’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, here we are.” Bilbo set his hand on the knob and swung the door back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome home, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as they closed the door behind them, the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, as summer began to seep into the air, and the butterflies soared like kites in the sky, ever waiting for the days of Midsummer to arrive upon the homely Shire. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! :) I sure had fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading this. </p><p><a href="https://ko-fi.com/undomiel">support me on ko-fi!</a> | <a href="https://small-flower.tumblr.com">my tumblr, small-flower</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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